Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
I fell in love with the real Dylan. Not that I’ve told him that. He says the words often to me, but I can’t bring myself to say them back. I’m not sure what is holding me back. What if I’m broken? He’s so perfect. I’m finding myself to be a bit self-conscious, and I hate that. Dylan has given me no reason to think that. In fact, he's made it abundantly clear that he’s taken. So much so that everyone is going crazy about him having a girlfriend that is steady and always with him.
I think to me it’s the only control I have in my mind. If I don’t say the words to him, my heart can’t break as badly if this all goes to hell. Or maybe I’m afraid the thrill of the chase will be gone for him. It’s bullshit. Still, there is this fear of saying them. Everyone I love on this deep of a level has left me in one way or another.
“You awake?” Dylan brushes my hair away from my face. I yawn before I open my eyes. We’d taken a late-night flight out to New York from Hawaii where he’d done one concert and we got to sneak in one day of play. Dylan has to record in the studio today and meet up with a few people there.
“I’m awake.” Another yawn leaves me.
“I should have let you sleep more.” He nuzzles my neck.
“You have a sex addiction,” I tease. “You’re really turning into a rock star now.”
“I have an Irish addiction.” He kisses up my jaw. That he does. I still can’t fathom him saying he’d give it all up for me. Especially since my own mother wasn’t willing to. I could and would never ask that of him. It would breed resentment in time. To take away someone’s passion? I’ve never really had a passion.
I guess it is Loveland. The family and people I have there. My stomach gives a small flutter thinking about family and home. The back of my mind knows that Dylan and I haven’t been using protection, and there has been no period for a while. I’ve never tracked them before, but I have to be late.
I haven’t had time to give it much thought. Dylan hadn’t been lying about how fast-paced things could be. It’s from one thing to another, and in between it’s Dylan and me all over each other. A few times I’ve woken to him sitting in bed next to me writing away on a notepad. If inspiration strikes, he’s always making notes. It could be in his notepad or on his phone. It really has been just work and me for him for the last couple of weeks.
I always thought this lifestyle was filled with partying and girls everywhere. Well, there are girls everywhere, but they aren’t all over him. He keeps his distance a lot of the time except for some of the meet and greets, where I notice Chris always speaks to the next group that is coming up to him to take pictures. I’m not sure what he says, but I think it has to do with touching. I’m noticing Dylan’s not a big fan of people being in his personal space. With the exception of me.
“You and the rest of the world have an Irish addiction.” I laugh.
My face has exploded across the internet. It’s strange seeing pictures of myself everywhere. The one thing about coming from a small town is that I know for a fact that the people from Loveland weren't giving them shit about me. Not that there was really much to give. My life has been the bar.
The most the paparazzi got were pictures from a high school yearbook since I don’t have social media. I have some regrets there. Maybe if I had social media, they could have stolen those pictures because my yearbook ones are not good. Wild red hair I didn’t know how to control and braces that made my mouth giant. Dylan of course thinks they're adorable. The man is crazy.
“I don’t like it,” he mutters, pulling me up from the bed so we can get dressed. I don’t miss the jealousy in his tone. It’s strange how short of a time you can know someone but be so connected.
“You don’t like it? Girls scream your name. They’d lick your feet if you let them.”
“I’ll lick your feet,” he offers. I snort a laugh.
“Do I look okay? Are there going to be people taking pictures?” I ask after I’m done getting myself together before we land. I know this isn’t a concert, but I swear people with cameras pop out of nowhere.
“You always look more than okay, Irish.” I don’t know why I asked him. “But no. This remix I’m doing is a surprise. No one knows I’m in New York except industry people who aren’t talking to the paparazzi.”